


This Alpha, His Alpha

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Bottom Bucky, Breeding, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dehumanization, Forced Bonding, Forced Knotting, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Male Masturbation, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bucky Barnes, Omega!Bucky, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, forced bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: The Asset knows what will happen.The technicians will wait until he hits the peak of his cycle. They will then bring him to a dimly-lit medical room, restrain him and allow him to be mounted by an Alpha stud.The chair only goes so far in ensuring his compliance, after all.Or: the filth that Elsa comes up with when she reads too much HTP Omega!Bucky trash.





	This Alpha, His Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Erm…there is no way for me to justify this. This idea popped into my head a while ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. I have a deep-rooted obsession with Omega!Bucky, I must admit. 
> 
> Heed the warnings. Yes, there are explicit references to rape, both past and present. This is HTP all the way, y’all. I’m being 100% serious: do not read any further if non-con elements make you squick.

The Asset sits up cautiously, taking care not to make any sudden movements, for fear of worsening the pounding headache in the base of his skull. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that the ache is not only constrained to his head. It feels as if his entire body is one pulsating live wire, oversensitive and fit to burst. 

Gut-wrenching cramps grip his stomach periodically. They make the Asset want to curl into a tight ball and hide himself away. The cramps are accompanied by dizzy spells and waves of nausea. The Asset’s skin is slick with cold sweat, yet he feels like he is burning up inside. It is as if a roaring inferno has been lit within his body. He has long since removed all his clothing, but his nudity does nothing to help him now. His mouth and throat are as dry as a desert; all the moisture in his body seems to be leaking out of his ass. 

There’s a throbbing pressure between his legs that he can’t ignore, beating at a pace that matches the Asset’s accelerated pulse. The Asset registers a tackiness between his ass cheeks, as slick drips down his thighs in shiny rivulets. His cell is filled with a rich, caramel-sweet fragrance that seems to be pouring from his body in waves, oozing out of ever pore. The Asset recognises it as his own scent, but—headier, almost. There is an unspoken message in the pheromones hanging in the air; an invitation, a plea. 

The Asset knows what will happen. He is unsure exactly _how_ he knows this, but he thinks it might be because this has happened before. There is a grudging familiarity to the aches in his bones, the tickle of repressed memories in the back of his mind.

The technicians will wait until he hits the peak of his cycle, when his body will be in its most receptive state. They will then bring him to a dimly-lit medical room, restrain him and allow him to be mounted by an Alpha stud. The Asset will be knotted repeatedly, without respite, until he can taste the Alpha’s seed in the back of his throat, until his hole is gaping open, raw and tender and messy with come. He will be fucked into submission, until the bond being forced upon him finally takes. 

The chair only goes so far in ensuring his compliance, after all. 

The bonds tie the Asset to his handlers, makes him subservient to their wishes. The Asset is left with a deep-rooted need to _please_ his handler, after every coupling. He thinks that he receives a new handler for every cycle, but—that might be misconstrued information, on his part. 

It is an effective strategy, he gives them that. 

Though the repeated sessions in the chair may have wiped his brain, no amount of reprogramming can change his designation, his biological make-up. The Asset’s body knows what it wants, knows what it needs. His handlers have simply been insightful enough to use this to their advantage. 

The Asset’s body was built to take a knot. A thick, fat, bulbous knot. He wants one to lock into his body and satiate the raging beast inside him. 

The Asset does some mental calculations. Based on his current physical state and the fact that he has only limited capacity for rational thought, the Asset surmises that he must be getting close to the peak of his heat cycle. Past experience and his own intuition tells the Asset that he has at most 24 hours before he is made to couple with a new handler. 

24 hours of riding this out on his own, going increasingly delirious and heat-crazed as the time sluggishly ticks by. 

The Asset sits cross-legged on his lumpy mattress, idly grinding his ass into the scratchy fabric to give himself a hint of relief. His cock is painfully hard, the tip shiny and flushed a dark, dusky rose colour. There is a line of pre-come smeared across his lower belly. The Asset’s balls are swollen and heavy, aching to be emptied. His chest feels tender, his nipples hyper-sensitive to the air around him. If he were with pup, they would be engorged and filled with milk. He squeezes his pec experimentally and hisses, the feather-light pressure still all-too-much for his body.

The Asset has been delaying the inevitable for as long as he can bear, but the ache is intensifying at an exponential rate with every passing second, crippling him with need. With a grimace, he rolls off his mattress onto his hands and knees, dragging his threadbare blanket along with him. He crawls over to the corner of his cell, as far away from the door as he can possibly be. The floor is icy-cold, but it gives him a blissful, albeit brief, reprieve from the fire raging in his core. 

With a small grunt, the Asset positions himself so that his back is pressed into the corner of his room. He balls up the blanket and stuffs it between his body and the wall, protecting his skin from the unforgiving chill of the concrete. He draws his knees up to his chest and lets his thighs splay wide, feet planted firmly on the ground. The sweat and slick on the backs of his thighs is making his skin slippery and sticky. The lewd position he is in exposes his fluttering hole to the elements. He is grateful for the darkness of his cell because it makes for him to be like this, to act like some common whore wantonly begging for a knot. 

If an Alpha were here, the Asset knows that their eyes would be drawn to his winking pucker. Maybe they’d crouch down in front of him, run their thumb over the ring of muscle. The Asset makes a quiet whimpering noise at the thought, eyes fluttering shut as his flesh hand traces a line down the centre of his torso. He flicks at his nipples, body tensing like a bowstring when sparks of pleasure dance through his system. 

The Asset curls his hand around the base of his fattened cock, before giving it a gentle, experimental tug. Bolts of white-hot pleasure radiate outward from his groin, travelling down his legs to the soles of his feet. His toes curl in anticipation. The Asset strokes himself without finesse, choked-off grunts forming in the back of his throat. His cock is slick from the copious amounts of pre-come drooling out of it, making the slide fast and sloppy. Obscene squelching noises fill his ears. As he nears his climax, he feels as if a spring is coiling ever-tighter at the base of his spine. The Asset starts to jerk his hips up into his fist — sharp, aborted thrusts as he chases his release. He is biting down on his lip to stifle his moans, teeth digging in hard enough to draw blood. 

Suddenly, inexplicably, an image forms in his mind. Or — no, not an image. It’s a sensation, a feeling, an experience he might have once lived through. A big, callused hand is wrapped around the Asset’s weeping cock, stroking it fast and steady, the thumb teasing his crown with every upstroke. The Asset thinks of another hand being clamped over his mouth to silence his whines. There is a bigger body draped on top of his. There are lips trailing down his neck, mouthing at the swollen mating glands there. He remembers an inviting smell permeating his nostrils; pine needles and woodsmoke, heady and rich and intoxicating, making uninhibited want pool in his belly. 

_C’mon Buck. Come for me, sweetheart, come for your Alpha_. 

The Asset climaxes with a pained whine, hips frantically humping his hand as he spills his release over his fingers. Ribbons of white come splatter onto his stomach. He is panting harshly through his nose, muscles trembling from the adrenaline and endorphins running through his system. As he comes down from his high, he wipes his sticky hand on the ground, not wanting to get the blanket covered in his own spunk. His handlers aren’t very generous, with comforts like that.

He does not feel satisfied. The orgasm has done nothing to curb the desire roiling inside him. If anything, it has only intensified the want. The Asset becomes painfully aware of the emptiness of his channel, how his hole is clenching down on nothing. 

The last vestiges of the memory are still haunting his mind. Who _was_ that Alpha? The Asset thinks that that Alpha might have been kind to him, once. Taken care of him when he was vulnerable and prone. 

Unfortunately, the Asset does not have time to dwell on that thought. His body has other, more pressing needs to be taken care of. His flesh hand slips between his legs once more, giving his half-hard cock a gentle squeeze, before trailing further south, behind his balls, over his perineum, to the epicentre of his arousal. The Asset presses his lips together in a thin line to hold back a moan as the tips of his fingers circle his sore and tender hole. Slick is trickling out of him at an alarming pace — he’s practically sitting in a puddle of it, by this point. 

The Asset is able to slide two fingers inside himself with little resistance. At this stage of his cycle, that is to be expected. The ring of muscle has dilated and slackened considerably, preparing his body to accept a knot. 

He wastes no time. The Asset thrusts those fingers in and out of his slippery channel, scissoring them apart to give his walls something to clench down on. The Asset quietly growls in frustration because it’s not _enough_ , nowhere near enough. His fingers are a poor excuse for an Alpha’s cock, an Alpha’s knot. He quickly works a third finger in alongside the other two and simultaneously adjusts his angle, so that the tips of his fingers brush over the bundle of nerves inside him with every pass. The Asset wants to whine, wants to thrash, wants to grind his ass down onto a fat knot like a common whore. He refrains from doing any of that, though, because the Asset knows that making a commotion will only attract the attention of the technicians sooner. 

His cock has thickened up once more, so the Asset curls his metal hand around it. The Asset establishes something of a rhythm, thrusting up into the tight channel created by his fist, before humping back against the three fingers in his ass. He wishes for something bigger, something thicker, something that can spear him open and stretch his ass out. The Asset registers wet, squelching noises floating to his ears and realises that he must be the source of those sounds. Soft grunts spill from his lips every time he brushes against his swollen prostate. Treacle-thick pleasure gathers low in his gut, slowly bubbling to a crescendo. 

_You like that, sweetheart?_

It’s that smell again — dew-dampened pine needles with an undertone of spicy smoke. It’s a smell that the Asset wants to roll around in, wants to rub his cheek into and smear all over his body. He wants to be coated in it. He wants to roll over onto his belly, draw his knees up under him and present to the owner of that scent. The Asset dreams of a thick cock splitting his ass open, filling him up the way his body yearns. He thinks this Alpha is gentle — with his words, with his kisses, with his touch. This Alpha presses his lips to the Asset’s neck, trails warm, wet kisses over his shoulders and back. This Alpha pets his hair and strokes his side. This Alpha presses his lips to the Asset’s mouth and murmurs words of endearment. Each thrust is calculated and measured, each stroke inflicting nothing but pure pleasure.

The Asset tosses his head back with a pitiful whine. He imagines digging his fingers into this Alpha’s meaty shoulders, hooking his legs around this Alpha’s waist. 

_His Alpha_ , hisses the Asset’s brain. _He’s_ your _Alpha_. 

His Alpha’s knot is teasing the Asset’s oversensitive rim, half-blown and becoming bigger with each passing second. One particularly hard thrust forces the knot inside his channel and the Asset thinks he gasps, the sudden fullness making his Omega hindbrain sing with joy. The Asset imagines bearing down on the knot, letting his muscles tighten around it to milk it dry. The Asset imagines his Alpha hunkering over the Asset’s body, capturing the Asset’s mouth in a searing hot kiss whilst he grinds his hips against the Asset’s ass. The Asset imagines he can feel the knot inside him as it grows and grows and _grows_. 

_Gonna fill you up, Bucky, gonna make you full with my pups_. 

The Asset’s eyes fly open as he comes with a small, pained whimper. He splays the fingers buried inside his ass wide, giving his body something to clench around. It’s a feeble imitation of an Alpha’s knot, but at least it tames some of the wild need burning in his body. His cock spurts, adding to the mess already on his belly. In his mind’s eye, the Asset imagines he can feel his Alpha’s cock shooting off inside him, coating his channel with hot seed. The enormous knot in his channel would trap his Alpha’s release inside the Asset’s body. The Asset imagines himself shooting off too, coating their bodies with his own spunk. 

His Alpha would take care of him, after, maybe roll them onto their sides whilst they waited for the knot to go down. It would be a big knot, pressing down on all the best spots inside the Asset’s channel. It would take a while for the knot to deflate, so they could be tied together for a long time. His Alpha would be sweet and tender through it all. His Alpha would scent him, maybe let the Asset bury his nose into the crook of his neck so that he could drink in more of that addicting aroma.

The door to the Asset’s cell flies open. 

The Asset freezes. 

The lights come on and the Asset squints at the sudden brightness, his sensitive eyes unaccustomed to the glaring white light. 

Five men march in. They are all betas. Four of them wear the drab grey uniform that identifies them as technicians. One wears a white lab coat and looks significantly older than the rest; wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, grey hairs at his temples. He is a tall man, with spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and a displeased frown on his lips. 

He must be the doctor assigned to monitor the Asset during this mating session. 

The doctor strides over to the Asset’s corner, stopping about a foot away and looking upon the Asset in disdain. The Asset wants to curl away and hide his face in shame, but he dare not move. These people may only be technicians and doctors, but they have connections to the people in power — the people who can really make the Asset hurt. He feels vulnerable and exposed like this, with his legs spread wide like a cheap whore, three fingers in his ass and his softening cock lying on his thigh. His is a mess of come and sweat and heat-fuelled hormones but still — he waits for his orders. 

The doctor tuts disapprovingly. “Couldn’t wait to get something inside you, huh?” he asks. 

It is frowned upon for the Asset to speak without explicitly being ordered to do so, but the doctor seems to be waiting for an answer. The Asset shakes his head.

The doctor sneers cruelly, upper lip curling back to reveal yellowed teeth. “Well, lucky for you, we’ve got someone lined up to take care of that.”

A sinking feeling settles in the Asset’s stomach. He dreads this. Of all the things they do to him, this is what he dreads most. Logically speaking, the plans they have in store for him will make him — physically — feel better, taking away the maddening pains of his heat cycle. But, something inside him is screaming in uproarious protest, telling him to fight back, telling him that this is _wrong_.

They will bring the Asset to an Alpha, but they will not bring the Asset to _his_ Alpha. 

“Isn’t that what you want, Soldat?” the man asks, voice taunting. 

No, it is not what the Asset wants, but then again, the Asset does not _want_. 

The doctor abruptly turns on his heel and strides out the door. “Bring him to the room,” he order. 

As the technicians draw closer, the Asset resigns himself to his fate.


End file.
